I turn my pout to his mother.
“She can say it. I’ll share the nickname,” she declares.
I beam. “You hear that, Jolly Ollie? I have permission from your creator.”
I squeal when he grabs me, but his mother swats him until he lets me go.
“Let her be. Go watch sports with your dad. I’m stealing Bree.”
The look Jason gives me before he walks away tells me our ‘conversation’ isn’t over.
I find myself in a huge master bedroom with an equally impressive master closet as his mother sifts through her clothes.
“What are we doing?” I ask as I look around.
“You are not festive enough, my dear.” Her words remind me of Jason’s sweater.
That’s why he put it on.He would have been in the closet with me if he hadn’t.
She looks at a sweater and frowns as she considers the options. “Are you offended by the white Santa?”
Her question throws me off, but I’ve been known to ask crazy questions. “No. Why?”
“I can’t find my black Santa.”
“You have black Santa?” I can’t help the smirk forming on my face.
“Honey, I have all variations of Santa. Asian Santa, Mexican Santa, and Dabbing Santa...”
“I must have Dabbing Santa.”
She winks at me and pulls the sweater vest off the hanger. I catch her toss, slide it over my shirt, and button it. I look in the full-body mirror of the wall. Santa is dabbing on one side and a reindeer is dabbing on the other.
After adding some ribbon and a few Christmas hair clips, I’m deemed festive enough to be in her home. My stomach growls.”
Jason’s mom looks at me with wide eyes. “Where are my manners! You need to eat! I’m prepping for our dinner tomorrow—we celebrate on Christmas Eve—but I have leftovers from last night. I’m so happy I followed my instinct to make extra.” She leads me out of her room, through the living room, and into the kitchen.
“Ollie! Matthias! Are you hungry?”
I’m starving, and I have no idea what’s on the menu.
“What you got?” Jason asks when he appears.
His mom is pulling containers out of the fridge; her brown eyes meet Jason’s for a split second.
“Um. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. All made from scratch of course.”
My stomach growls again. Jason’s mom frowns at him.
“Son, the key to a successful relationship is to keep your woman fed.”
“But, she’s—”
“And, your husband,” Matt adds, looking at his wife. “Is the food ready yet, woman?”
I laugh when she purses her lips. “Don’t get beat up in front of our company, Matthias.”
We work together to warm up our prospective plates of food and meet at the table. Jason’s mom says grace, and I dive into my plate shortly after. Everything is delicious.
